


A Dragon In Wolf's Clothing

by mneiai



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Don't Like Don't Read, Drabbles As Chapters, F/F, F/M, House Martell, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, Not Genderbent, Polyamory, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2020-10-04 06:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20466194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: Jon's soulmark comes in and leaves him with more questions than answers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first two chapters are slightly edited drabbles from [ASOIAF Drabbles Part II](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19904575/chapters/48507692).
> 
> I started building up soul mark lore for them and thought it was kind of a waste to put all of that info into something that was going to be barely used lol
> 
> This will update infrequently and doesn't really have much of a set plot (I mean, probably just ye olde normal "the Martells are going to use Jon to destabilize Robert's reign" sort of thing). I'll update the tags as they become relevant.

Half the children of the North lives in anticipation of their 14th year. It was when their soulmarks, if they had one, would appear on one, or even both, of their cheeks. In all the kingdoms, it happened at fourteen, but each location was different dependent on the child's bloodlines.

Robb was still mortified his own was on his upper arm, a sign of the Riverlands. Sansa hoped for that, that she might be Southron enough that it would show in her mark.

For Jon...he didn't know what to think. Because sooner than he'd expected his mark had bloomed. Not across his cheek, as a Northman had his. Not even on his legs, as he'd secretly expected, knowing only that his father had come back from Dorne with a bad in his arms.

No, his was across his chest. His was where a Crownlander would have theirs.

He was so shocked about the location that he barely even noticed what his mark looked like. Running to Robb was all he could think of doing, but Robb was with Theon (whose mark rode low on his torso) and suddenly Theon knew, too.

"Not just a Crownlander," Robb muttered, "That's a _Valyrian_ mark." 

It was Theon who pointed out _what_ they were seeing, after Robb and Jon spent minutes panicking and confused. "That's a fucking snake and spear. A _red_ snake and an _orange_ spear." Jon looked at him, eyes wide, and Theon seemed to take pity on him for once. "Your soulmate is the Red Viper, bastard. A prince of Dorne."

That might have been the only thing that made the shocking revelation about his mother fade away for awhile, as Jon processed that. He'd heard of the Red Viper as all children hear of the notorious knights and warriors of their time--in tidbits of information gleaned from the adults, censored and carefully worded. 

"We have to tell father," Robb stated, almost as reluctantly as Jon felt. "Prince Oberyn's pale mark should be fully colored in, now that you've gotten yours. He'll come searching. Father needs to...he needs to be the one to start negotiations."

Negotiations. For a marriage. If Jon wanted it.

The idea made him dizzy. He'd thought, hoped, that maybe his soulmate would prove to be the Smalljon or another Northern lord or lady around his age. Or even one of the merchants who sometimes visited from White Harbor. Compared to the Red Viper, Jon might have even preferred Lady Dustin, as hateful as she was.

Theon sighed, patting Jon on his head as he might one of the hounds. "Don't look so down, Snow, at worst you get to escape this cold and go lounge around in Dorne eating blood oranges and staring at near-naked women." 

He sounded wistful, reminding Jon of the one time they'd been brave enough to ask him about his own mark and the revelation that King Robert wouldn't let Theon wed. Jon knew he must seem ungrateful, in light of that, and nodded, squaring his shoulders.

"Let's go tell father. He can send a raven to, uh...Prince Doran right away." 

He'd need to ask the maester for more lessons on Dorne, as well, he'd never learnt much about the opposite end of Westeros before. And he would have to try to figure out which Crownlands lady his father could have possibly met during the Rebellion.


	2. Chapter 2

When Oberyn turned fourteen, his mark had appeared. He'd watched Doran greet his own with enthusiasm and Elia greet hers with vague acceptance, but for Oberyn his soulmark was more an oddity than anything else.

He knew almost everyone in Dorne had one, but he'd been almost hoping he wouldn't, that he'd never be tied down like that. Thankfully, among the highborn and his homeland, a soulmark wasn't the end of his social endeavors. 

Especially because his was a pale mark--grey and vague. The mark of the older of the matched set. Doran thought it was for a Stark because of the shape of it, but Oberyn wasn't so sure. There was something off about it that didn't really fit with any of the pictures of the direwolf in the books they had at Sunspear or on the flags he'd seen in his travels.

He spent years checking his nearly every morning, throwing back the covers and staring at that dark spot on his thigh, but it never took shape into more than it was. And eventually he just stopped looking altogether.

It was Ellaria who noticed when it finally came through. They'd been lounging together on the bed, reluctant to fully wake for the day, and she'd twisted around, planning on perking him up. Her face was only a few inches from the mark when she noticed something was off about it and her sudden gasp drew Oberyn out of his doze.

There, where before had been little more than a fuzzy outline, was a dragon's head in profile. The colors had barely changed, still grey, but with white added in, now, making a lovely contrast against his dark skin.

"It's not a direwolf," he muttered, stroking the mark. 

No, it was a dragon...mimicking a direwolf.

He cursed and rushed from the bed, nearly tripping over the bedding, and then the clothing they'd strewn around the room the night before.

"What is it?" Ellaria demanded, unnerved, and he forced himself to slow down, to calm down.

"We have to speak to Doran. This is...it's more important than even he could have imagined."

They found Doran up already, discussing something boring Oberyn didn't care about. His brother only looked slightly put out as Oberyn dismissed everyone in the room but Hotah. Then he set his foot between Doran's legs and hiked up the garments he was wearing.

"It's not a direwolf. It's a dragon."

Doran took much less time to figure things out than Oberyn did. "_He's_ not a direwolf."

"One of you is going to explain this." Ellaria had her hands on her hips and fire in her eyes and Oberyn shivered in desire at the sight.

"My soulmate, Doran thought it might be a Stark, a direwolf for a Stark. Instead it's...a dragon in Stark colors. Like a bastard boy claimed by Lord Stark said to look just like him."

Ellaria's eyes widened. "You think...Lyanna Stark's child?"

They nodded. 

"We knew she was in Dorne, she was supposed to meet my men in Starfall...but after Elia's and her children's death, the kingdom was thrown into chaos and when she never appeared...." Doran grimaced. "To know the boy has been alive this whole time, a bastard in the _North_."

"We _must_ bring him home." Ellaria hated the idea of any bastard suffering, but now she was especially concerned for her paramour's soulmate. "Oberyn, let the girls know we'll be going to Winterfell. I'll make arrangements."

Oberyn balked. "We don't even know if--"

"Of course he'll want to come with us, no soulmate of yours could be a fool."

That wasn't what Oberyn was going to say, but it was a good enough point. He wasn't going to abandon his soulmate to the North.


	3. Chapter 3

They'd gone through everything they could find on the recent lineages of House Velaryon and Celtigar to no avail. Now Jon was digging through other books on Crownlands families, hoping to find some mention of a woman his father could have been with.

It was Arya, bored from all of the research, who gave them the first hint that maybe things weren't what they seemed.

"There's no way father could have been in the Crownlands during the Rebellion, I'd be less surprised if Uncle Brandon seduced someone in the Black Cells!"

Jon had sucked in a breath and Robb had stumbled on his way back to the table with more books. Theon had only needed a moment to process the words before he started laughing, staring straight at Jon.

"It...it couldn't be, right?" He looked desperately at Robb, hoping his brother (brother?) would dismiss the idea.

Except Robb was looking at him warily, now. "It...would explain why father kept you here, instead of warding you elsewhere."

"But why would he do that?" Arya demanded, one hand clutching at Jon as if him no longer being her brother by blood might make him disappear entirely, clearly regretting her words. "Why say Jon's his son if he's not?"

"For the succession," Jon muttered, shoulders slumping. "If I'm his son and younger than Robb, no matter what happens, Robb comes first. If I'm Brandon's son...."

Theon made a thoughtful noise. "It would explain why he's never told anyone who your mother is, either. If she's still around, or had family, he wouldn't want you finding out the truth."

"Father...he wouldn't just lie like that," Robb tried. "He'd have a better reason than worrying you'd betray us."

Shaking his head, Jon looked back at the books, realizing adding in King's Landing itself was going to make things very complicated. "Why not? Your mother already hated having a bastard in her home, if I'm a bastard with more family that's even more to hate."

"Jon..."

"You know, we might get answers even if your father refuses to give them," Theon mused, fingers tapping on the cover of the book he hadn't bothered opening. "We don't know what the Viper's mark looks like."

Jon and Robb exchanged looks. "That's true. It would explain why he never bothered to approach father, either, if the mark looks more like your mother's House would have than a Stark's."

He wasn't sure if that made him less nervous or more about meeting Prince Oberyn. It was one thing to know that soulmates couldn't physically harm each other, it was another to accept that his soulmate was one of the most dangerous men in the kingdoms. Who had all the reason in the world to dislike everyone who sided with Robert in the Rebellion.

"Father said he'll be here within a fortnight," Jon murmured, hands wandering back to a storybook on Dornish history that he used to read to Arya when she was younger. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough, then."

Arya pouted. "Are you going to marry him, really? Are you going to leave us?"

"Arya," Robb started, scolding, but Jon shook his head.

"It's fine to ask that, Arya. And...I suppose I will, depending on how he and I get along. But I'd been thinking," he looked back at the book, remembering the stories of Dorne's past and supposed present, of Nymeria and the warrior women that lived throughout the lands, "perhaps you could come with me? It's unusual, but not unheard of."

Her eyes went wide and she let out a little, excited squeal. "Do you think I could?"

It had always been the two of them against the world, he was glad to know that she'd still want it to be that way. "Of course. I'll have to get father's approval, of course, and the Prince's."

Theon chuckled. "I can't think of a better place for Underfoot."

Robb was frowning, clearly unsure, but Robb had his parents, and the rest of their family, and Theon, and someday he'd have Winterfell. Jon hoped he didn't really begrudge Jon some little piece of home in a strange land.

"Well, I suppose it does make sense. And the two of us being marked means it's more likely for the kids to be, so it's not like it will affect where she ends up."

"I'm not a kid!"

Jon poked her in the side, making her squirm. "Oh? So are you an adult lady?"

She glared and poked him back, right where she knew he was ticklish. After that, he couldn't really focus on his worries.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested I decided to try making a Discord for rarer ASOIAF/GoT fics. 
> 
> Invite link: <https://discord.gg/djEFfhq>
> 
> Discord is a chat program. Think of it like Skype with mostly text-based chat and instead of a video chat option it has voice chat. It's basically for people into any but the top 5 or so ships in the fandom (which at least some have their own Discords).
> 
> Also, unrelated, I've got work stuff and will be traveling, so updates on all my stuff may slow down.

This was the first time Jon had ever stood with his family to greet a highborn guest. He tried his hardest not to fidget or otherwise show his nerves, but the unusual circumstances and the fact his _soulmate_ was coming through the gate was making it hard.

He was standing in between Robb and Sansa and, to his surprise, it was Sansa who reached out to squeeze one of his shaking hands, shooting him a soft smile. 

Prince Oberyn greeted Ned and Lady Stark, first, then gave Robb the briefest of acknowledgements, before stopping before Jon. 

He knew he wasn’t the most handsome boy, but he didn’t look bad, not compared to many of the fourteen year olds he knew. But now he desperately held onto all the stories he’d heard of Brandon Stark (his father? or just uncle?) and his own blossoming into one of the handsomest men in the North, and hoped that Oberyn might see the signs of such a look in Jon.

At least Lady Stark had had a new outfit made for him, three, in fact, just for the occasion. He did not look half as scruffy as he could have.

“Jon Snow. You have kept me waiting quite a few years.” His town was teasing and Jon found himself flushing under his dark gaze.

“My apologies, Prince Oberyn,” he murmured, “but I fear Lord Stark could not have had me at much younger an age.”

He almost flinched when he realized what he’d said, but Oberyn just laughed, shooting Ned an amused look. “I suppose you’re right.”

And like that, Jon felt just a little better about this thing. _The gods wouldn’t have marked us if we couldn’t get along, right?_

Oberyn greeted his other siblings, including a blushing Sansa and suspicious Arya, before coming back to Jon and offering his arm. For a moment, it looked like Ned would protest, but they were soulmates and no one, not even the Septa, would claim they could be inappropriate together. As far as the gods were concerned, they were already better than married.

“I was hoping you might accompany us, as we get settled.”

Eyes widening, Jon glanced over at the others in Oberyn’s party. If they’d been introduced, he hadn’t been able to notice.

“...Of course, my prince.”

And so he ended up leading the group towards their rooms, trying not to shake with nervous energy because Oberyn would surely feel it.

“These are some of the warmest chambers in Winterfell,” he said, to fill the silence.

“It’s hard to believe this is _summer_,” someone behind them muttered and he almost laughed at that.

“I hear it’s more like your winters, which...will be something to see.”

Oberyn smiled down at him, something encouraging in his face. So far, he hadn’t seemed intimidating at all, but Jon knew from his own father that men can seem gentle until they’re not.

“I think you’ll do well in the heat, it’s in your blood, after all.”

Jon stared. _What,_ he wondered, _did his soulmark show Oberyn?_ Did he know who Jon’s mother was? As soon as they were alone for the first time, Jon didn’t think he’d be able to hold back from asking.

“...As you say, my prince.”


	5. Chapter 5

The boy--Jon, he supposed he should give his soulmate the regard of his name, even if it was surely a fake one--was a pleasant surprise. He had moments of boldness that showed that being a bastard hadn’t destroyed him and was intelligent and learned enough to understand that there was something afoot he didn’t have enough information to figure out.

And, oh, how Oberyn liked to tease him about it. It may be summer, yet, but the North was extremely cold for his Dornish blood, and so there was no risk of anyone seeing his own mark. Instead he gave hints that it might reveal more than Jon knew about himself.

If he was having some good-natured fun teasing Jon, he was finding a truly sadistic pleasure in teasing Lord Stark.

“_Prince Jon_ doesn’t quite fit,” Oberyn mused, sitting in Ned’s solar going over the marriage contract Doran had sent with him. “It’s really a shame changing names isn’t easy. Who named him ‘Jon’?”

Ned’s face had changed colors so many times during the meeting that Oberyn didn’t know how his blood was still flowing normally. “I chose the name.”

“Oh? And what did his...mother wish to name him?”

“Prince Oberyn, we still have five pages of the contract left to go over.”

Oberyn let him change the subject, going over a few more clauses in peace, lulling him into a false sense of security. “I, of course, have no issue with his...siblings visiting,” he said when he reached that part of the contract, a possible squireship for one of the younger boys, waiting until Ned was in the middle of taking a drink, “but who knows how they’ll do in Dorne. Jon, at least, is of fine Southron stock.”

He doubted his soulmate would be thankful if Oberyn caused his uncle some sort of fit, but Ned truly made it too easy.


	6. Chapter 6

"Why would Bran or Rickon get to squire? Why not me?"

"Because you're a girl," Robb reminded her, with a sigh.

Arya scowled. "I didn't ask to be! Women have been warriors! Great warriors! Nymeria, Visenya!"

"Exactly." They both looked up, seeing one of Oberyn's bastard girls hanging over the railing of the hallway above them, smirking. "And in Dorne, that's appreciated."

They both stumbled back as she vaulted over the railing, hanging for a moment before dropping lightly, cat like, to the ground. 

"You're Elia, aren't you?" Arya had tried to learn the names of all the visitors, but there were so many of them.

The older girl smiled. "I am. Back home they call me Lady Lance."

Arya's eyes went wide. "Do you actually joust?" 

"Of course. Aren't they letting you?"

She was off at Elia's side before Robb could hold her back or protest. They'd all been told not to antagonize the Dornish and none of them wanted to risk Jon having a bad relationship with his soulmate, so there was nothing Robb could do to stop them as Arya and Elia walked off towards the stables.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oberyn being Oberyn, Jon being Jon, some little infodumps.

"It's just as spooky here as I expected."

Jon rolled his eyes, looking back and up as Oberyn approached the heart tree. After nearly two moons, he was not surprised about the lack of respect for any gods, but normally Oberyn left him alone when he prayed.

"Maybe you shouldn't come out here at night, then. Wouldn't want some creeping terror to get you."

He rolled his eyes and stood, brushing himself off. Sometimes he felt weird, treating a prince so casually, but Oberyn, and the entirety of the Dornish party, had spent a long time reminding him that soulmates were equals.

Maybe he'd been born a bastard, but he was, in the eyes of the gods, worthy of Prince Oberyn.

"And miss the way the moonlight reflects off of your hair?" Oberyn reached out, twisting a lock between his fingers. "It looks almost silver in this light. Just lovely."

Jon flushed, looking away. They were bound closer than any marriage ritual could tie them, but officially they would be waiting until he was at least sixteen for a ceremony. Until then, Jon thought Oberyn's flirting would surely just continue getting worse.

"You risked the judgement of the gods just to stare at me?"

Oberyn shrugged before holding out his hand to help Jon up. "Oh, but we're both the darlings of the gods, aren't we? I think interrupting your prayers is easily forgiven." He gave his charming, dark-edged smile.

Jon's hand wasn't released when he stood, instead Oberyn kept it, guiding him back out of the godswood. 

"I understand you have your moods, but you seemed exceptionally melancholy today."

Ah, Jon supposed he should have expected this. Oberyn wasn't one to just let something lie when he could instead pick it apart.

"You know why."

"Oh? Do I? Perhaps you should refresh my memory."

"You're not truly going to be like this the rest of our lives, are you?" Jon mumbled, but only got a grin in reply. "We're leaving in a sennight."

"Ah, I thought it might be that."

In truth, Jon had let himself forget the matter, until tonight at dinner (sat at the high table next to Oberyn despite Lady Stark's wrathful gaze, almost used to it by this point), a visiting lord had brought it up. Well, he'd brought up what a short time was left to finalize the treaties Oberyn had been authorized to form. And just like that, Jon had remembered.

He was leaving the only home he'd ever known. His family. His life. His culture.

Maybe he would have a better life in Dorne (not so much a maybe, he knew, unless all the Dornish were amazing mummers), but that didn't change anything. He wouldn't even be able to visit regularly, as he might have if he'd just moved to a Northern keep.

"Ah, well, I suppose I do have something that will cheer you up."

Jon looked at him suspiciously. "If this is about sex…."

Oberyn laughed. "No, I'll spare you any more of that until we reach Dorne."

Ever since they'd found out he was a virgin, the Dornish had been prodding him about it. Oberyn (and Ellaria) had little interest in him, not yet even a man grown, but many of the younger Dornish had offered. They treated it like some skill he was lacking, completely differently than he was used to hearing sex spoken of (even by Theon, who saw it only as pleasure for himself). But Jon didn't want it. Not really.

"Then what?" He prepared himself for some disappointment, of Oberyn misreading him and thinking something that Oberyn liked would be something Jon liked.

"It's somewhat unorthodox, but your father has agreed to allow Arya to be fostered at Sunspear."

Jon's mouth dropped open. "What? Truly?"

"Yes, yes, truly." Oberyn was grinning, so smug Jon almost felt offended. "Not for another two years, but it certainly gives you something more to look forward to."

And he was. It was far off, but Arya was only ninr and so Jon could understand that. He'd probably be adjusted to the place, by then, and could show Arya all sorts of sights.

"How? I can't believe it was easy! Lady Stark must have thrown a fit!"

"Ah, I may have had an upper hand. Arya is quite like the Lady Lyanna had been and I reminded Lord Stark that trying to force her to be someone she wouldn't would just lead to her running off, as his sister had."

Jon scowled. "She didn't run off, she was abducted."

Oberyn had an expression that Jon couldn’t interpret. "Ah, yes, King Robert," his voice dipped with disdain at mentioning the King, "so loved his fantasy that he spread it all around."

"And the Targaryen loyalists are the ones to be trusted, instead?"

Not taking offense, Oberyn more looked at Jon like he thought he was doing something cute, the way others sometimes looked at their direwolf puppies.

"It is true, Rhaegar was well-liked. Not so much by me, I must admit, but my sister was attached to him."

"Your sister his wife who he dishonored."

Oberyn smirked. "Oh, he did, but not by kidnapping Lyanna Stark. Not even by helping her run off. My brother had some small correspondence with my sister during that time, when she was still at Dragonstone and mostly beyond Aerys' reach." He looked down again at Jon, eyes intense. "She had been in favor of him bringing Lyanna back with him. He'd been mad in his own way, which had seemed so much less destructive than Aerys' madness at the time."

Jon swallowed, throat seeming too dry, before asking, "How?"

"Rhaegar was convinced he needed three children. My sister would have almost certainly died if she'd attempted a third pregnancy. If the choice was death--leaving her children motherless and surrounded by enemies--or bringing a girl into her family who had no political ambitions, what do you think any smart woman would do?"

He looked away, considering that. Despite their soulmarks, Jon didn't feel any ownership over Oberyn. He didn't mind that he was still with Ellaria--what right did he have to break up a relationship that had already existed?--nor that he would still take random lovers here and there for the experience. 

But it wasn't hard to imagine what Lady Stark would do--she despised Jon, after all, not his father, and she loved her children so much she'd suffer any indignity for them, he knew.

Mothers were supposed to do that.

"So...you truly think the stories are a lie? But then why did Uncle Brandon go to King's Landing? If Aunt Lyanna left willingly with Rhaegar, why didn't she leave word?"

"Maybe she did?" Oberyn's gaze had narrowed and Jon thought this might be a topic he himself dwelled on often. "Maybe it never reached any of your family. Maybe it was intercepted. The Targaryens had many enemies and there were many lords plotting against them even before Lyanna's disappearance."

There was a weight to his words there, too, that told Jon there was more that Oberyn was telling him.

He worried his lip for a moment, then decided now was not the time. “Thank you, for Arya. Knowing she’ll be visiting...it will help.”

Oberyn’s smile was kind, this time, and he gently stroked his thumb against Jon’s hand. “I want you to be happy, arguing with Ned Stark and his Tully wife is a small price to pay.”

Jon’s heart felt too large in that moment and he ducked his head until he was sure that wasn’t showing on his face. No one ever said things like that to him, not until Oberyn had shown up. He didn’t know why the gods thought he deserved this favor, but he was so thankful.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon will be getting to experience Dorne soon lol
> 
> Reminder that if you want to chat about ships or whatever, [I'm manyangledone on Tumblr.](https://manyangledone.tumblr.com)

“You haven’t told him yet.” It wasn’t a question, Ellaria knew they would have seen a reaction in Jon if he’d been told the truth of his parentage.

Oberyn shook his head. “I told Stark he should tell Jon who his mother is, before he leaves. I was going to give him the chance.”

She frowned, but nodded in agreement. As a parent, she understood that it could be hard to admit to lies like the one Lord Stark was keeping. But, at the same time, she couldn’t imagine _keeping_ such a lie, not when it so clearly affected the boy so badly.

“He only has a few days left.”

“I know. He’ll be too craven to, I’ll be stuck telling Jon once we get back to Dorne and dealing with the results myself.”

“Foolish of him,” she muttered, “Jon might be angry with him, but he’ll be worse if it’s not Stark who tells him.” Her eyes slid back over to Oberyn. “Especially since many in Dorne won’t care to make sure Lord Stark is cast in a favorable light.”

He grinned at her, baring his teeth. “I don’t know what you mean.”

***

Ned stared up at the statue of his sister, hands shaking as they placed a fresh rose in her outstretched hands. “I don’t know what to do,” his voice was barely audible, even in the silence of the crypts, “I don’t know _how_ to do it. You would say I was an idiot, a craven, for waiting even this long, but….”

He imagined Jon’s eyes, full of hatred, betrayal. Imagined Oberyn Martell whispering poison in his ears.

The worst part was, he didn’t know what Oberyn knew. He hinted at it, but even then, did he feel secure enough to tell his own soulmate a possible lie? Had he guessed the truth or did he believe instead that Jon might be Brandon’s son? 

Or was Ned’s own paranoia making his words seem worse than they were? Was he hearing hidden barbs when it was just Oberyn’s normal, condescending tone?

There were so many risks to revealing the truth. Risks to Jon, to their relationship, to their family. Risks to the peace between the kingdoms.

He wished he was as brazen and reckless as Brandon and Lyanna had been, as coldly logical as their father was.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on my phone so excuse any typos. 
> 
> I know I've said this in conversations with people in the comments but can't remember if I actually put it in the notes, but Jon and Oberyn will definitely not be having sex until Jon is older. As a fic writer I get to decide everything about this and I'm not having a grown man fuck a fourteen year old.

Jon gave one last look around Winterfell. The only home he'd ever known, the family he'd grown up with.

He'd given most of his goodbyes the night before, though his family and much of the household had come to see him off. 

Already a trickle of Martell guards had started out, intent on clearing a path for them. Obara had gone with them, surprisingly not scoffing at Jon's attack of melancholy. The others waited on him, Oberyn standing next to him, a steadying hand on his shoulder.

He knew, could feel through the growing bond, that he couldn't stay. For the next few years, until they'd consummated it, it would be steadily increasing torture to be apart. 

But that didn't keep him from fantasizing about staying.

"Two years," Arya gasped, hugging him quick and tight. "It's not all that long, considering."

"It's not," he agreed, trying to lock away the memory of this, the feel of his little sister safe in his arms. "I'll see you soon."

Robb was next, giving him a hug so tight it almost hurt, whispering in his ear that if the Dornish tried anything, Robb would go through the hells to get him back and safe. It made Jon laugh, because otherwise he'd cry.

Bran he could not offer any comfort to, only be relieved that Rickon was too young to realize what all the fuss was about. Sansa's goodbye was awkward, but she tucked a beautifully embroidered kerchief into his hand, of white wolves under a blazing sun, and he promised to keep it on him always.

Lady Stark gave him a nod and farewell, the minimum she could do.

And then there was his father. His father who still didn't tell him the truth, who looked at him as though he was mourning the dead and not sending his son off to a place without the prejudice that had weighed him down all his life.

"If you ever need anything…."

Oberyn's fingers curled tighter against Jon's shoulder. "He will want for nothing."

They exchanged looks, the animosity between them still surprising Jon. "I'll be fine, Lord Stark," his father flinched at the title, but here, in front of Lady Stark and the household, it was the only reprimand he could offer. "I'll write, as I promised. And anyone from Winterfell who wishes to can attend our wedding."

Arya would be there for that, but who else might be, he didn't know. It would be in a Sept, probably, before gods Jon did not follow, but to the Old Gods soulmates were wed from the very beginning. 

He said a few more goodbyes, then let Oberyn guide him to the beautiful mare he'd brought for him. Ellaria pressed a kiss to his cheek as he passed and he gave her a wobbly smile.

Jon didn't let any tears fall until they were miles away. Until he could blame the cold bite of the wind for every one of them.


	10. Chapter 10

From White Harbor they sailed to Braavos. At first, Jon thought it was just an easier way to make the journey on ship, but when they arrived Oberyn ushered him to an expensive looking inn and revealed that he wanted to show Jon some of the world, first.

Oberyn, or Ellaria, or one of the Sand Snakes, would occupy Jon’s entire day with sightseeing, trying new food, and attempting to teach him more than the minimal Valyrian he’d been taught growing up. Braavos was both totally like and unlike he’d ever imagined it to be and he only hesitated slightly before letting Oberyn know he wouldn’t mind seeing more of Essos.

“Don’t worry,” Oberyn’s tone was laughing, but not in a mocking manner, “I’m hardly fit to stay in one place for long. Once we’re married Doran will surely find any excuse to get me out of Dorne.”

Jon had lived his entire life in one place, had dreamt of always living in that place, but he was starting to understand what it was like to want more.

"It is a good thing that you are the second son, then," he smiled openly at Oberyn then, an act he was growing more used to, "so that we can do what we want."

"That's the spirit! I'll have you fully corrupted before we get to Dorne."

He wasn't sure about that, but he also wasn't sure how much he wanted to resist. The world was huge, he was alone but for his soulmate and his soulmate's family now, and Jon had to adapt. He _wanted_ to adapt.


End file.
